The Brazen
by whyarealltheusernamestaken
Summary: 4. Mikasa Ackerman finds herself in the company of the maker of the best coffee in the world. This is the story of falling in love, walking past it, but not quite falling out of it. 5. Mikasa receives a diary for her birthday.
1. Burden

**Table of Contents**

1. Burden

He's dead. She laments.

2. Forgotten

"Pain disappears if you wait long enough."

3. Maid (Drabbles)

Mikasa finds herself in the company of a maid, a French maid, to be specific.

4. Maid (Drabbles)

A cat ear wearing French maid, to be specific

5. The Best Coffee In The World

Love is strange, and never predictable. When the envied 'queen' of everyone's desires steps foot into an old fashion café, something warm and strange claims her from a cup of creamy, rich expresso. She returns everyday to see the maker of the best coffee in the world.

6. Dear Diary

In which Mikasa receives a diary for her birthday

7. Of Hair and Lips

(Slash) Mikasa finds herself daydreaming about her Professor. Why can't she just graduate already...

8. Parallel

This is the story of Life and Death. Literally

9. Let me go.

They were perfect, before he encased them in a world without magic, blinded himself to drive into insanity for the sake of his sanity. It was a choice he should have made a long time ago.

10. Tiramisu

Levi is the son of bakers who own a cake shop, and strangely, he remembers the horrors of his previous life. The screams, death, and despair cling around his hazy mind. As he grows from a child to an adult, he finds around him many comrades whom he had fought alongside of, worried for, and loved. Yet, there was something missing, _somebody_, zooming in and out of the mind, in his dreams, grabbing at the tips of his subconsciousness...

**A/N: you may notice I have not written/posted all of them yet... well, it's part of remembering my ideas. I will finish Tiramisu tomorrow (swears profusely) and it's Rivamika week on tumblr! So for 'damage', I wrote Let me go.**

* * *

"What, do you think you are doing?"

Levi blinked, an extremely menacing voice snarled down at him. Though the words themselves were carried by a rather feminine and soft tone, the fact that they could burn through the attention of humanity's strongest soldier was not a surprise to people who tasted the fury of an Eren-less Mikasa Ackerman.

"How might that relate to you?" He enquired back, but regretted it immediately as his eyes slid up to meet the coal-dark gaze of the young oriental, whose neck was uncharacteristically naked due to the lack of the bloody red scarf, which currently resided in Levi's hand.

He sighed and ascended from his crouching position.

"I was going to toss this shit in the garbage." He motioned to the scarf, and waited for the girl to rebuttal.

Nevertheless, all she did was utter a soft "oh." after casting an unreadable glance at the soft woven material and walked past him back to her own room, which was three steps away from their current position.

Levi stared at her door; completely dumbfounded that the girl had accepted the fate of her beloved scarf from her beloved brother so easily. Unsure of what to actually do with the scarf, since he was going to place it in front of her door and leave, the little corporal carried it back to his own room not too far from Mikasa's and tossed it in his bathroom sink. For more than once, actually, more than he could bother to count, he had badgered the girl to wash it, usually in the context of "You're going to make the camp reek with that bio-hazardous shit." and earning witty comments, disdainful glares and pointed glowers from the girl.

Irritated and still thoroughly confused, he walked around his room and back to the sink, glaring scornfully at the "weapon of destruction". From what he had gathered, Mikasa adored the "fashion disaster" that her adopted brother had given her. He was not quite sure why, though it never bothered him much, since Mikasa wasn't a normal one to begin with. Her obsession with her brother was over the level of incest, and even if Levi scrubbed the two with his most powerful cleaning agent, he doubted the two would ever come clean as a pair of ordinary siblings again. Though he would never admit it, whatever made Eren special made Levi rather uncomfortable, in fact, so much so that he found comfort in bullying and intimidating the very perplexed little German.

_Fuck it_, he thought as he grabbed a bar of soap and bent down to sort out the "red house of bacteria and other unspeakable things".

As Levi fingered through the now wet material, soaking it in cold water and soap, he wondered if tomorrow would be successful. Probability was low, though silently; he hoped that it would not end with as many casualties as last time. In the back of his head, he thanked and cursed Eren's titan form for collapsing and breaking Mikasa's forearm.

(*)

Mikasa twirled her chopsticks absentmindedly. Her heart was pounding. It was the first time Eren would be going to the battlefield without her. Damn her injury.

The door slammed open, and Mikasa saw Eren and Armin's tired figures limp through the door, her heart sighed in relief.

Suddenly, pushing Armin, who trailed behind Eren into the wall and bursting into the room loudly, was Sasha Braus.

"Commander Irwin said… the Lance Corporal… was sacrificed in battle!"

Mikasa stared at Sasha's frantic face, desperation clawed at her shaking hands while fear and resentment traced her eyes.

Impassively, Mikasa rose from her seat as silence greeted the new comer's words. The scraping of her chair caused everyone's dumbfounded expressions to turn on her. Mikasa didn't bat an eyelash at the sudden attention, but walked straight towards the teal-eyed boy whose face exposed of only disbelief and horror. She pulled him into her embrace. Her right arm hung uselessly against her body while she allowed the dreading chill to settle into her chest, restraining her breathing.

There was an outburst of astonishment and cynicism from one of the squad members and a sob from a soldier, who was rather attached to the little Corporal, but Mikasa didn't hear, nor did she care. All she did was clutch Eren tighter into her arms until the crowd had started to disseminate and until Mikasa finally felt the wetness at her shoulder from the silently sobbing boy in her arms. So she tightened her clench on his body, pushing their chests so close that she could feel his uneven heartbeats thrashing against her breasts, so that his shaking figure tickled against her torso, so that her arm lost all feeling of warmth. She held onto Eren as though he was her lifeline, because if she let go, surely, the floor would crumble open into the earth and she would tumble into what Armin had once described as 'lava'. But even lava could not heat up the chill settling and dispersing within her body, nor would it melt the frozen numbness growing her mind.

(*)

She waited until Eren had finally fallen asleep holding her hand before getting up very slowly and leaving his room.

Mikasa gingerly shifted her weight from one foot to the other, the shock had not quite dissipated yet, and she hoped it would stay that way longer, because after the shock would come realization and pain, until that one moment in which the pain would morph into acceptance. That was the most agonizing part, acceptance. It would mean erasing his presence from her current world; it would mean an everlasting scar she would never rub off. It would mean she could no longer pretend… that she didn't care.

Without realizing her feet had carried her past her room, she found herself pushing through into a fresh new one. It felt familiar, but at the same time very far away, only on few occasions had she ever had reasons for staying in here, though it would be a first to be in here alone.

She slid past the desk, allowing her fingers to trail along the obscenely clean surface and weaved her way across the floor, ghostly drifting through another doorway and into the bathroom.

Her own reflection stared back at her, the same dark eyes, sleek black hair, and ivory pale skin. Absent mindedly, her hand rested on her awkwardly naked neck and she diverted her attention to the drying red scarf hanging by the bathroom window. Still numb, she grabbed the material and slid it off the string where Levi's undershirt and underwear hung. It felt cool and moist, but she still threw it carelessly around her neck. Closing her eyes, she inhaled, and it was as though the air itself carried little daggers that pierced into her lungs, forcing her to close her eyes. It smelled like lemons. He smelled like lemons. It hurt.

Goddamn it, it hurt.

Before the slow torture could spread completely into her body, she lunged herself into his bed, covering her shaking body with the same lemon scented covers before finally settling down to allow the pain to overtake her in waves. Spreading up to her finger tips, to her legs, into the tips of her toes, again and again, tackling away her defense until she couldn't think anymore. Until she screamed into the God-awful lemon scented pillow and wiped her tears and snot into the fucking lemon scented bed sheet. Until her eyes felt too raw to open and until her throat became too hoarse to speak, but the pain didn't stop. It continued to radiate through even as she drifted away to sleep.

Mikasa opened an eye and found Levi's dead-fish eyes staring down at her, arms crossed and mouth pressed into a thin line.

She smiled and pulled at the hem of his dirty thigh belt.

"Is it okay?" She asked, more to herself than to her companion.

"Is it okay what? Like hell if I can understand you." He growled, but sat down at the edge of his bed after throwing off his jacket and boots anyway.

"To be selfish?" She whispered, her voice thick with sleep and pain. Before Levi supplied her with an answer, she pulled him into her chest and fell down onto her side, draping the covers onto him with her spare arm so that her other arm acted like a pillow for his head, resting against his neck.

"Don't move." She ordered, though Levi could hear the faint plead in her usual stoic voice. She had sounded so breakable, so fragile and weak that he complied with her wishes, allowing her to rest one of her legs over his body.

"What happened?" He asked quietly, his voice rough but soft.

"I don't recall." She murmured, her voice fading and slurred.

He sighed, ignoring the dirt and grime that covered his hair, he can take care of that later; there was no need to hurry.

They had time.

(*)

When the tightness in her chest returned with the strangest empty feeling that felt as though a part of her lungs had been cut out, Mikasa knew she was awake. Nevertheless, instead of opening her eyes, she chose the pitch-black darkness that still held memories fresh from her night. She wasn't quite ready for reality to settle just yet.

Armin once said that before the titans had taken culture away from humans, authors wrote tales of heart connecting to heart, tragic pain of star-crossed lovers, and soft whispery exchanges of vows in the dead of the night. They wove images of men who lost themselves in the inner beauty of women into words and created somber songs for young maidens who plucked their delicate fingers on the thorns of mysterious roses.

And of course, the sheer agony that made these youths plunge daggers into their chests to stop the overflowing torment from a love not yet dead.

Mikasa had thought they had been foolish, or more accurately speaking, she had been naïve to believe there was nothing more absolutely necessary to her than family. No one else could cause her that same despair, especially not some lustful male she had the misfortune to meet at some party whose promises were looser than Sasha's mouth.

Or at least that's what she thought.

Yet, that gruesome feeling of wanting to sink away into the shadows appeared for someone other than Eren. Her heart had betrayed her trust for worrying about a man whom she barely knew, and had even less contact with.

She felt like a failure, but was completely unashamed for her pain. For her pain proved that she was still human.

The sound of running water jolted her eyes open and she sighed, knowing that it was time to wake up from her bittersweet dream. She slid up, her body strangely stiff. The scarf around her neck had dried, now once again soft and warm. She pulled it up above her nose, taking another whiff of that poisonous lemon scent.

Faintly, a small urge told her to investigate the source of the water, for it most likely came from Levi's bathroom, most likely because she had left it open the night before. Unsteady on her feet, Mikasa had somehow managed to make her way to the bathroom door, her mind strangely blank as she glided across the floor, her bare feet sticking the to the cold tiles. Feeling heavy, Mikasa threw off her jacket, and then began to unbuckle her straps, allowing them to fall freely onto the floor with rather loud clangs, until all that was left were the bandages on her chest and unzipped white pants with her heavy red scarf.

A bath sounded good…

While sliding open the door, Mikasa stepped out of her white pants and began to undo her bandages, completely oblivious of the steam and heat emitting from the bathtub.

"Why are you stripping, Ackerman?"

Mikasa stiffened, her eyes widening with shock at the naked Corporal's words.

Everything flooded together, and the next thing the two of them knew, she had glued herself against him, and he had slipped backwards, so that the two tumbled painfully into the bathtub.

It was shock that hit her the fastest, then relief, happiness, a strange desire to laugh, embarrassment … and until finally, and unmistakably, anger.

"I just washed that, you know?" He muttered irritably in her ear, his voice was gruff and his eyebrows were clenched together, but two bright pink clouds floated visibly on his cheeks which if asked, he would pass as the heat from the bath.

She blinked at him and pinched his right cheek… hard, earning a "what the shit?" look from her companion.

Before Levi could push her away, which was something he wasn't really planning, she had planted her mouth against that same cheek.

"I thought…" she choked out, and buried her lips into his wet hair, completely unaware at how the only thing separating their crotches in the water was her thin piece of underwear and how his face was pressing against her half bandaged chest.

"Really, it was just my luck that the big-mouth heard Irwin bad-mouthing me to Hanji, when I came back last night, everybody looked at me like I was some sort of a ghost" He breathed, his voice a complete octave higher than usual as his heart rate quickened and blood rushed to areas of his body where he would not normally display to the public

Nevertheless, he simply laid still for her while her silent tears fell into his hair and her chest constrained irregularly.

"You're ridiculous…" he sighed, the faintest of grins unabashedly showing on the corners of his lips at the girl's worry.

By the time the two were out of Levi's bathroom, Mikasa's face was pitch black.

"Potato girl will _wish_ she was dead by the time I'm done with her." She muttered under her breath. Levi had only been too familiar with that expression, for it lit on her face every time she set eyes on him. It was not just hate, it was pure loathing.

He almost felt bad for the potato-girl.

(*)

Levi unwrapped the warm red scarf from around his neck and placed it on the soft sand resting beside him.

He then unfolded a piece of paper holding a white powdery substance from his coat pocket and chugged it all down his throat, cringing slightly.

"_Please… I beg of you…" _

_She clutched his hand desperately, beads of sweat appearing on her too-pale forehead, though her eyes remained determined. All he could do was hopelessly clutch back on, equally anguished. _

"_Protect Eren…"_

_What could he have expected? Of course it was Eren. _

_He had known all along Mikasa would die for the brat…_

_Except she hadn't._

"_Levi…" that was the only time he had seen her beg, and it was probably the same for her too. _

_He shook his head, "No… no Mikasa… get up and do it yourself, stupid shitty brat! Don't you dare…get that damn pathetic expression off your face!"_

_She had almost smiled at him at that very moment, but instead, she released his hand and landed her scarlet red hand onto his neck. _

"_Take… it." She coughed out, fighting for what remained of her time. _

"_Take… it." She breathed out again, and he feared how distant and fragile her voice had turned form merely moments ago. With shaking arms, he unwound the scarf from her neck and wrapped it around himself. _

_With a final relieved smile, she cupped his cheek with her hand, staining it with her blood. _

"_Thank you… and… sorry…"_

_Levi gasped for breath, struggling in vain to keep his tears at bay. _

"_You know Mikasa…"_

_Her breath was fading and her fingers slackened._

"_I've always…"_

_For a second, Levi could see the final lights behind Mikasa's coal-dark eyes fade, but he knew that she understood what he wanted to say. _

"_always…"_

_At that same moment, Levi knew something in him died with her, and that nobody was ever going to revive it. _

"You were a real shitty brat." He muttered, both arms and legs crossed while he closed his eyes.

Nothing but relief flooded him, and the million-ton scarf laid silently beside him, shifting gently with the wind.

"But I think I've done well."

Levi laced his fingers into the material, his body relaxing. Another surge of waves patted against the shore while the sun downed another angle, painting the water bloody red with its venomous but strangely gentle rays, and for a second, the ocean was almost calm.

"I've always…"

Levi uncrossed his limbs, his head rolled towards the scarf, not minding the sand digging into his hair for once.

"always…"

His speech slurred as he closed his eyes, finally free from those red shackles.

He could hear Mikasa's voice somewhere behind the curtains of his eyes.

"_Irksome shortie…"_

So he followed it, his brows unfurrowing, lifting his face away from its permanent scowl.

_Je t'aime, peut-tu m'entendre?_

**Not sure if my French is grammatically correct… tell me if I'm wrong. **


	2. Forgotten

The Brazen

(A collection of Levimika one-shots)

"_I'm old enough to be your father"_

"_That means you knocked up my mom when you were fifteen."_

"_That's not the point-"_

"_Whatever, I get it, so you die before me."_

"What are you thinking about?"

Levi ran a hand through his perfectly groomed hair and frowned, "put that down, what if somebody comes in?"

The girl walked towards him, apple in hand, "What if somebody walks in?" She repeated, her voice sly.

He rolled his eyes as the apple slid through her hand and dropped to the floor.

"You're wasting-"

"Don't." She muttered, her mouth pressed into a thin line, and Levi smirked.

He picked up the offending fruit, his almost expressionless face oozing with amusement.

"I'm still practicing." She said quietly, sliding her hand across his pristinely clean desk, "It's difficult, but I stopped dropping between floors."

He smiled, this time visibly, "Yes, it's good that I don't see your feet dangling on the ceiling when you get stuck between the floors."

With an ominous glare, which Levi wasn't quite affected by, she shrugged him off, "you know, it kind of sucks."

"What?" They had gotten comfortable with each other's presence.

"It's almost been ten year." She muttered, her voice lowering to almost a whisper, "Am I going to be stuck like this forever?"

Suddenly, it was as though the temperature had dropped by a few degrees.

He didn't answer, it was not that he doesn't want to, it was more that he couldn't.

At that exact moment, Levi's door burst open, and in came Eren Jaeger, a determined expression on his face, Levi was glad for his interruption.

"I was told to come here." He saluted, his eyes hard.

Mikasa drifted across the room and hugged Eren, one hand in his hair, stroking it, and the other on his back.

Levi didn't say a word after glancing at the boy, but merely sat down and began reading a book after pulling on a pair of heavy looking glasses.

Eren raised an eyebrow. Every once in a while, he would be told to come to Levi's room, and yet, all he was ever told to do was to stand there for a good part of an hour and was then dismissed.

Mikasa's index finger traced the lining of his brows, nose, and lips, her eyes drifting ghostly across his features, taking in his confused green eyes and the scar near his ear. Slowly, she leaned in, pressing her lips against his cheeks.

The green-eyed boy allowed himself to relax; there was something comforting about the room. Something very familiar, yet he couldn't put his finger on what, so he simply allowed himself to treasure the moment of whatever it could be that made him so happy but so heart-wrenchingly pained.

Mikasa tried wiping a single tear away from Eren's face, though all her hand did was flick past it and back again. Giving up, she wrapped her arms around him once again, closing her coal-dark eyes.

"Heichou," Eren murmured, his voice dim, "you were… close to… Mikasa, weren't you?"

Mikasa paused, staring up her brothers face the same way Levi paused his reading to look up at the boy. No, man.

For a second, Levi's heart skipped a beat.

Had they been close?

"Yes."

He lowered his head, chewing his words slowly, "was it… that kind of relationship?"

Levi raised an eyebrow while Mikasa pushed herself away from Eren to look over her shoulder at Levi.

He glanced at her, though her blank expression betrayed nothing.

"Yes."

Eren threw his head back up, his clenched hands shaking on either side of him while Mikasa rested her own fingers over his, trying to soothe the muscles she could not feel.

"Don't be cruel, Eren." She whispered in his ear, "I love you the most."

"Then," he finally chocked out, voice strained, "in a week, would be a whole ten years since she died, would you…" His voice trembled near the end, and he hoped the Corporal would ignore the fact that his emotions overpowered his determination.

Levi watched them from behind his spectacles, and nodded solemnly.

"You are dismissed." He said, his eyes lingering on the way Mikasa clutched Eren's hand.

She looked so desperate.

Levi's door closed, and Mikasa fell back onto his bed, though she made no creases, and the bed looked as though no one was occupying it.

"I can't do this anymore…" She murmured into his bed covers, her black hair falling all around her in a pool.

He slid into his bed under the covers, lifting his glasses off his nose and leaving them on the bedside table without paying it much attention.

"When the day comes, that you all die…" Taking out a hand, he tried to caress her, but only fell through the shadow that was her and landed on his bed.

"Are you going to leave me too?" And for a moment, she sounded so fragile that Levi felt his own heart break a little.

Yet, he couldn't bring any words to comfort her.

The first time he found her, glistening under the sun, he thought he had gone mad. With the surge of happiness that rushed from his head to his chest, he attempted to embrace this madness, even if it was only madness.

Nonetheless, he found himself sliding through her figure and tripping onto the floor, but her tinkling laughter that resounded through his ears took away the pain. For days, no, years after that, everyday felt like a dream.

Not only because she came back.

Not only because he could see her again.

Not only because the pain that came with her death seemed to kill him off everywhere except physically.

But because she was his.

Only his.

It wasn't long before she started, and he too, had wondered…

How long will she stay?

The problem was that it seemed that she could disappear any moment. And for her, it was the opposite…

What if she remained forever?

"I don't belong here, Levi." Her voice only shook slightly.

She was sinking deeper and deeper, and the torment was only beginning, because time continued, no matter how much she tried to stop the moment.

"I'm _dead._"

Death would have been painful; it should have been painful to let go of those most important to her.

And that exact moment, when she did die, she wished she was alive, she wished she just had more time to continue fighting alongside her friends and comrades. Despite the pain that would ensue, she wanted to stay alive.

No matter though, how much she tried to shut away the neurotic thoughts slowly overtaking her, they slithered through the cracks of windows and through the particles between the walls to grasp her.

"How long are you going to stay alive? How long is Eren? How long before I'm left here all by myself?" Her voice rose steadily, and as it did, it trembled harder than ever before.

It was wrenching her away, and all around her, everything was burning, and she wished everything would turn to ashes. That the fire would cease. She wanted to die, so badly.

"I can't…" She looked at him in the eye, coal-dark eyes filled with sorrow and hatred, "what have I done to deserve this?"

Levi wanted to talk, to say something, _anything_ that could wear away the soft pain etched into Mikasa's ghostly presence.

He couldn't, because he felt just as helpless as she did.

Like watching Mikasa burn away into ashes while he stood on the other side of the mirror.

And he knew he couldn't do this anymore.

"I love you." He whispered, and Mikasa smiled softly, her eyes as dead as ever.

"Can I ask you a favour?"

Levi closed his eyes, he couldn't agree, and he felt his pride crumble completely. For being a man, for being humanity's strongest soldier, he could not bring himself to accept a single request from the woman whom he could do more than die for.

"Leave here, Levi."

She paused, shielding her eyes with the back of her hand, "Everyday, seeing your face, hearing your voice… it used to give me hope. And it was good to see we were finally winning. Good to know you were safe. But now, I'm only a burden to you. You can have your own family now, find someone who loves you… someone who can give you a family."

But for all she's worth, for all he was, and they both knew she meant the words, and they both knew she had uttered them with resentment and fear.

So he stayed still, because he knew he would have to leave her one-day, but there is nobody out there who could give him a family.

She stuffed her other fist into her mouth, muffling a dry sob, "Don't leave me…"

The light flickered, and the rain outside patted against the window.

"I don't want you to leave me…" She murmured again, this time louder.

And she sounded so much like a child, so alone. Her forlorn gaze that peeked out between her fingers tore through Levi like a bullet.

"You're all I have left."

And so it exploded, she exploded, and so did he.

He saw red, and his possessions started flinging across his room, smashing the window to bits and allowing the wet wispy wind to trespass on their moment of insanity.

For whatever reason, she had grasped whatever strength she had and threw herself across the bed, across his desk, and he had tried to follow her. A sudden, brief determination that allowed her hand to materialize around the heavy metal ball and fling it at the window before she dived out leaving only cold darkness in her wake.

That night, in her hazy vision, she could remember Levi's tormented screams after her, and she herself, blown through the air like forgotten wind, along with the rain and night, away from the only person who could still make out her shape. She couldn't feel, because she was no physical being, but that night, she could feel her very soul chill away her fire-burning emotions.

Whatever happened afterwards, she wasn't quite sure.

Somehow, people had cultivated the land, created battles and countries, created their own wars.

Mikasa watched them from afar, they were foolish, but it didn't quite matter to her.

Because Levi wasn't breathing anymore. Because Eren had already rotted away in the dirt. Because Armin had grown old and his blue eyes failed and his heart gave away to a sudden sickness.

So years flew past, and she realized that flowers weren't all that pretty, and she mastered the art of being 'solid' for periods of time.

And humans built ships and pretty houses, wove silk and beautiful dresses via giant factories that blew out gray smoke that tore through the azure sky and left their mark in the lungs of poor workers who saw no sunlight.

She had found a new house to stay in with a little boy with eyes too cold for his age and no parents.

Nevertheless, life was short and cold, she left the boy when he turned sixteen, attracted to a pretty black haired girl who seemed much too frail, who coughed too much, and who worried the boy whose heart she warmed so much.

By then, she couldn't remember her own name. Nobody had said it for too long, and Eren's appearance felt hazy in her memory. Though she still tried, once a day, to say his name.

There was also someone else, but her chest pained when she thought of him, so she stopped thinking about him.

Before she knew it, the world had morphed again. Large skyscrapers materialized from the ground upwards, covering away the sun whose rays seemed to weak for the people who carried umbrellas to shield themselves from being tanned. Everybody had their own little machine with them that they carried in hand. Animated chatting about things that they should but didn't really care about, and things that they did but really shouldn't care about.

She still wandered through walls, and looked over the shoulders of employees who were too busy raising a family but never went home to see how their children had grew, how many lines plagued their wives faces, and how broken the eyes of their beloved are knowing that their father had always gone into another's embrace after work.

This time, she stayed in the attic of a businessman who lives in a house far too neat, wearing outfits too impeccable, and a mouth foul enough to make even the juvenile teenager blush.

She didn't cry when he was run over by a truck.

It didn't really hurt anymore.

Nothing really mattered anymore.

And she finally reached it…

Death.


	3. Maid (1)

The Brazen:

Maid (pt. 1)

Mikasa leaned back, allowing her black hair to cascade around her freely, down her back, past her hips, and tickling her thighs through the short, translucent gown flowing around her.

Lonely… so very lonely that the ground and sky and everything in between feels as though they were swallowed away in the stomach of 'I don't give a fuck'.

It was too quiet.

Much too quiet.

She speculated her room with cold grey eyes, scanning across from one side to another; it seems to be in order.

So then she turned to the window and closed it shut with all its nice summer air… realization hit her.

Eren was going on a business trip.

Oh right.

She forgot.

Intertwining her fingers in her long black hair, she brought her knees up to beneath her chin and rested the side of her face onto her knees, allowing the loud, echoing silence to ring through her eardrums and bounce around the walls.

A faint slam of the front door that she could only barely hear echoed from downstairs through the obscenely large mansion, and Mikasa perked up, bouncing to her bedroom door and pulling it open with more enthusiasm then she intended, all her previous worries dissipating, "Eren?"

She called, her voice calm and shaking only slightly with excitement.

There was a brief, gentle silence, before a deep and irritated voice replied, "Levi." Mikasa's shoulders slumped, and turned back to her room, dragging her feet across the floor, "and you would do well not to me mistake for 'im."

A slight crease between the area of Mikasa's brows told her she wasn't too pleased with her new guest, or his English grammar, and sliding herself forward, she made her way through the hallway and down the marble staircase with her hand gingerly placed on the ivory hand rail with her inky hair flowing messily behind her.

"Are you a friend of his?" She murmured, pale skin contrasting with her dark eyes and hair and blood red lips.

Levi's gaze glided across her features, and quietly, a short breathy comment escaped his lips, "_Blanche neige_."

His companion tilted her delicate looking neck, exposing more porcelain like skin. Her cool charcoal eyes lit up lazily to take in his ragged shirt and too-long jeans, the only thing that looked of any value on the little Frenchman was the black box tucked beneath his arm.

Eren had often brought home… interesting friends…

"Maid." He muttered, replying her question with a voice containing heavy traces of French.

Mikasa stared down the short man with skeptical eyes, her gaze landing on his beady starless orbs, trying to uncover her way through the murkiness and into the other's thoughts.

From her speculation, she decided that…

… he looked like an ass.

"Eren ordered you here?"

"_Non_, 'Arlert'"

Mikasa's eyes lit up for a second at her best friend and ex-boyfriend's name, a faint, nearly non-existent smile playing with the edge of her lips.

"Then, he would tell you that the maids in my household must dress accordingly to the dress code."

With a bit of a snarl and pursed lips, the little man twitched his arm, which had an expensive ebony box tucked under it.

"Well, I look forward to working with you..." Her grin widened slightly, and her eyes glinted more sadistically than kindly, "Levi..." she eyed him up and down, "…chan."

The Frenchman narrowed his eyes in confusion at the term, but whatever it was, it made him felt that he would be doing more than cleaning.

He didn't like it one bit.

(*)

On the first day of his treacherous job, he found himself in a black and white maid dress with cat ears, which sucked only because it was hard to clean in that shit, and that the tail brushed along the dirt on the floor. He also witnessed why the famous actress was so greatly admired by that "Arlert" guy, for the moment the pretty blonde cook who looked a little less than affectionate entered the mansion, the Oriental's demeanor went from unsympathetically nonchalant to…

"What do you think you're doing in my house?"

"I was told to-" the girl started lazily before she was pinned to the wall and thrown out the door without further notice.

"The next you come here," The grey-eyed woman smiled eerily, "I'll castrate you."

Even the French man who did not understand half of what she was saying shivered slightly, "_Merde_." He muttered to himself, "_Salope…_"

The subject in question spared him an amused glance before walking past him, tweaking his cat-ear in the process, which made Levi go slightly red as he traced his wary eyes all over her long, creamy legs.

Mikasa raised an eyebrow at the cleaning man, it seems as though he didn't watch enough television to know that she was fluent in French.

**A/N:**

**Non: no**

**Blanche neige: snow white**

**Merde: shit**

**Salope: something along the lines of 'crazy bitch'**


	4. Maid (2)

The Brazen:

Maid (pt. 2)

Twirling a glass of white wine in hand, Mikasa hummed, her eyes glued onto the flowy water-like liquid and raised it to her mouth.

After setting the glass down, she walked towards her own reflection in the mirror and gave herself a once over.

Today, her famous long black hair was twirled once like a bun but allowed to flow down to her hips, and was pinned together by a pointy silver ornament.

A silky halter dress that hugged her figure flowed down to her ankles, and a long slit that ran up to her thigh showed a strip of ivory skin shining through the red material. She inclined her chin, and there rested that on that same ivory skin a tear shaped diamond Eren had giver her for Christmas.

Not that either of them celebrated Christmas.

She twirled around at the clicking of a tongue, and found her maid, cat ears and all, to be sweeping the same spotless piece of floor for the past few minutes, or hours, whichever.

"_Très belle_" He commented in a gentle voice.

Mikasa raised an eyebrow at him, "With that voice, you should be a voice actor."

He frowned, and the actress understood that the little Frenchmen didn't catch a word she just said.

Leaning casually against the doorframe, Mikasa gestured at the plate of cookies on a table not too far away from her.

And scowling, the French maid dropped his broom to walk all the way to the other side of the room to deliver the cookies.

"Thank you." She said, extending a hand with long, pale fingers.

She then took the cookies and began chucking them all over the crisp, clean room, finishing the task off by smashing the expensive looking china plate over an equally expensive looking lamp. They both toppled to the ground in a deafening crash. Leaving Levi speechless, she clasped on a platinum bracelet and said loudly and slowly, making sure to enunciate every syllable, "en-jo-y."

Cringing, he muttered through his teeth at her retreating figure, "_Merci, ma chérie."_

From down the hall, he could hear her voice being carried through the echoing silence, "I guess you'll miss your bus again tonight. Stay in the room you stayed yesterday."

Smiling wryly, Levi twirled his broom to his dominant hand, taking a better grip on the object before starting his operation.

Everyday since he started, Mikasa has childishly made a giant mess right before he left, which was to catch the last bus.

He wanted to tell her that he would stay as long as she asked.

Oh well, he didn't mind cleaning.

Translations:

_Très belle _– very beautiful

_Merci, ma chérie_ – thank you, my dear

**A/N: Hi guys! I just realized I haven not once thanked you for all your follows, favs, and reviews. Oh, the reviews, you have no idea how much I enjoy reading them! I know I don't reply to them one by one, and only answer some of the questions… but I wanted to inform you that they really are well appreciated and I enjoy them very much!**

**Oh yes, regarding this little drabble series, ironically, it is a little bit too long to be a drabble, and too short to be a chapter story… oh well… I'll just call it a drabble. I've been thinking of moving it to its own section… since it seems that it would much longer than one my other one shots and two shots. Tell me your thoughts?**

**Explanation to ****The Forgotten**** which is chapter two. I received several comments that it is a little… difficult to interpret. I won't actually interpret the thing, but I will write a little summary if it helps. That will be posted along with the sequel to ****The Forgotten****, called ****To Never Forget****. I haven't actually planned a sequel for this so… I think it's a little off, and to be honest, I actually like the story better without the happy sequel ending. Ah well… it suddenly started bothering me when I was writing a prompt so I thought I'd just type it out… so, look forward to it? Or not? Since it's quite badly written at the moment…**


	5. The Best Coffee In the World

Note: Not necessarily in chronological order.

The World's Best Coffee

Falling behind in the game of life, rolling back and forth, unable to escape the chapter in a book, looking behind to find no one is left in the passages, accidentally missing the prelude of something important to tend to something trivial. There is too much left eclipsing away the happy bits, thrown not off balance but a spiral of simply eating, sleeping, and working.

If asked, Mikasa Ackerman could not possible be the type of girl to be fazed by anything unrelated to her half-brother, in fact, it is a given to most people that trying to be personal to her was second to impossible. She was an enigma, enrapturing unsuspecting curious citizens to pry into her life, only for them to be lost searching for a door. The troubles that ensued falling in love with Mikasa Ackerman was endless, yet countless boys and girls, men and women fell into the same trap, led into the same eerie forest where the woods only seemed to become thicker, the flowers more mesmerizing, and the exit further.

Yet, despite how unfair it may seem, it occurred to nobody that Mikasa Ackerman could fall in love. Because falling in love would have to mean she's human, and humans are flawed, but Mikasa is perfect, therefore she couldn't possible be human, and thus falling in love is a non-existent factor for her to worry about.

The girl was enthroned 'queen' in them minds of most, for her beauty, for her intelligence, athletics, but most of all, for being untouchable.

Besides the barista.

She was absolutely enthralled by the barista.

He was 'Levi', working in a small café wedged between a popular French bakery and a little bookstore owned by Armin Arlert's grandfather. The café was full only never, and most, if not all the time, Mikasa would find herself in the café alone, giving the barista her undivided, shameless attention through black diamond orbs.

The barista held his own, entitled to being an entity simply due to the attention of everyone's secret (or not so secret) queen. He was the epitome of an apathetic loner with about as much of a social life as a dung beetle, in Mikasa's opinion, and he was perfect. She really did enjoy his shit jokes, which were quite similar to her own fart jokes.

But enough about that… nearly 400 words and not a single dialogue let us at least delve into their first meeting.

Entrenched to her belief that cafés should be brown, Mikasa chose the only one of that nature in the crowded street.

It had a name, but she didn't bother looking at it, not even with her peripheral vision.

"Welcome."

The only worker stood in a crisp black apron, its only flaw being its cloth lightly powdered with flour, she let it slip though, only because she thought that it was cute.

He had parted his straight black hair, save for some strands of particularly stubborn cowlicks, similar to how professor Irwin from Mikasa's old university had. She wasn't very fond of the rather old styled and somewhat lame cut, it was good to see that at least the worker had the decency to keep his hair 'normal', especially with the working colour bombs and whatever shenanigans on the streets.

"I think… an espresso would be good…" She decided slowly, chewing her options.

The barista nodded, he looked thoroughly bored, obviously wishing to be anywhere but there. Nevertheless, due to the way the café was kept so diligently clean that once again, Mikasa had to let it go.

Love comes easily when it desires, often shaking us with something not completely necessary, making us epileptic, causing our blood pressure to suddenly increase and to feel happy or sad over the smallest things, the equanimity that we prize broken by a pizzicato of words strung from a voice that seems beautiful only in illusion, plucking at our heart strings.

So, it really shouldn't be a surprise to Mikasa that she fell in love with the maker of the best coffee in the world.

Creamy and bitter with a hint of sugar…

Mikasa spent the next three hours of her evening staring at the little barista. Being a woman raised in the era where the innocence of being stupid is no longer taken pride in, it took less than half a second for Mikasa to decide she could no longer live without the coffee, and only slightly longer to decide that the dull barista was actually erotic, his dead-fish eyes delicious, and his height unspeakably adorable. Her first impression eroded away faster than the flow of coffee down her esophagus.

She had left when the café closed at midnight, and an esoteric smile slid up her lips as she wished the tiny barista good night, wiping away a cloud of flour from the corner of his lips.

By the end of the week, Mikasa learned the barista's schedule by heart, taking note of the pattern of his actions, not for manipulations, but simply for self-satisfaction. She watched over him day after day in silent giddiness, and leaving her cell phone on only so her half-brother could reach her. Sometimes she wondered, though, if the barista remembered her existence, for he only cleaned away at the café's equipment and sanitizing everything, touched or untouched.

He most likely never looked her way.

Evidently, Mikasa told no one of her new finding, though Armin Arlert did note one time that she looked a lot happier than before, that whatever was happening must be good for her. She blushed.

Unfortunately for Mikasa, she carried away with that happiness and left her phone on silent one day.

That didn't end well with her overprotective big brother Eren Jäger.

"What shit got to you?" Levi asked with little interest.

Mikasa smiled down at him glumly, she always smiled around him, whether she liked it or not, "My brother's angry at me. He cursed me, using a lot of rude epithets."

She replied, sliding her card and signing the receipt.

The barista frowned ever so slightly, and opened his mouth, but closed it again, deciding not to ask.

Mikasa then sat in a corner of the café, staring out the window at the rain instead of the barista for once, her thoughts drifting to the dishes she could make to cool Eren off and the places he might like to go… the clink of china woke her from the daydream.

The barista sat down the usual espresso but also another plate containing a single éclair.

Mikasa looked up at him enquiringly, lower lip jutting out to a pout.

"Free éclairs today." He muttered expressionlessly before slinking away.

The dark-eyed oriental felt a completely exasperated goofy grin overtake her face.

The droplets of rain hanging from strands of Levi's hair was interesting… she also happened to know that the same éclairs were sold at the popular French bakery next door.

Raising the espresso to her lips, she took a sip, it was even creamier and better than before, and Mikasa felt herself fall a little more in love as she watched the barista sweep the spotless floor with the same surly expression. Her eyes traced the slight slouch of his back and the exposed skin from the rolled up sleeves of his black sweater.

She was being sucked deeper into a level she cannot find herself to control, and loved every second of it.

(*)

Mikasa came from a family of distinguished elites settling no less for Lamborghinis and impossibly expensive restaurants. Being pretty eminent herself, she was less of a fanatic compared to her brother, a famous detective working to eradicate a gang known as 'The Titans'.

Mikasa though, chose to carry her fame with a falsetto, preferring to be more superficial, more in the middle, and more enigmatic. For someone so laid back, her devotion to her brother was rather well-known, and she couldn't care less of what others thought of it, for it simply didn't matter. Nevertheless, Mikasa was still a doll of society, and she knew how to persuade with sweet words, gestures, and beauty.

It didn't help when hippogriffs were rampaging in her stomach though.

There are several stages of love, and it doesn't take long for the gentlemanly part to wear off and become replaced by human nature; the desire to possess selfishly.

She ordered her usual espresso and the barista took five minutes longer bringing it to her, with slightly tainted cheeks and a particular prickly air around him.

Intrigued by the change (Levi was one to love order), she looked down at her espresso to find the milk on top of the espresso arranged a little oddly. Was it a flower? Didn't seem so… and puzzled, she looked at the barista for an answer, yet he just pointedly looked away and tripped over an armchair, glaring feebly at the sound of his hands, elbows, and knees as they contacted the hard wood floor.

Mikasa giggled, she then covered her lips, horrified at the sound it made.

Levi hurried behind the counter, ferreting for something he doesn't really want to find and she dragged in the whole cup of espresso with a cringe.

(*)

Love is quiet, it circles around you slowly before overtaking your life, and you won't notice it until it's too late, until there's too much infidelity for you to give yourself into it completely, and you are caught on the fence of leaving and staying.

So when Eren told Mikasa he wanted to leave for Germany, what she offered back wasn't the usual absolute dedication, but a waver in her eyes, and something akin to sadness. But Eren had always been dense when it came to Mikasa, so he doesn't notice.

"Cheer up." The barista offered her a rare lop-sided smile after setting down an extra cup across from her and falling onto a soft, squishy armchair after slipping off his apron.

Mikasa looked at the clock and realized his shift had ended, and a pretty strawberry blonde girl now took his place behind the counter.

"I'm not sad." She muttered, pulling her red wool muffler over her lips and nose, rich sable eyes lowering under layers of shiny lashes.

He pulled a hand over his own cup and brought it to his lips, blowing the liquid before taking a small sip, shifting a little uncomfortably.

"Then I must have read you wrong." He murmured sarcastically, "because I'm so stupid I still don't understand your expressions after seeing you nearly everyday for the past four years.

Puffing her cheeks out in protest, Mikasa hid even deeper behind her scarf.

"You know, you're always flaunting around here and attracting customers, it's good for business." He commented airily, a hint of a laugh behind the serious façade.

"…Yeah." She said guiltily, not quite understanding what Levi was getting to, since she only had eyes for the short Frenchman anyway.

(*)

She dated a man that cared about her more than deserved in Germany. He too, like so many others, was spellbound by all Mikasa was. It was supposed to be a political marriage, but she walked out, guilt grabbing at her heart, knowing that he could have better.

In the end, she married Armin Arlert. He was a pretty detective, soft-spoken and shy, spooling their own tale that grew faster, further, and stronger. Eventually, there was so much string that Mikasa stopped running away.

Leaving her heart to Armin was simple, because he knew how to take care of it, because he knew her better than everyone else, because his love was easy and pure, it didn't overwhelm her, nor did he expect anything in return. He was selfless, and she loved him. How he smiled so sweetly and docilely but his intelligence proving to be lethal case after case. How he saw her, and only her, even if she never looked back at him. It was subtle, and subtleness was what she needed.

(*)

Levi found himself at more of a loss, and less of a slump, at the point where it became too much to hold in, and not enough to explode.

He should've stared at her more, as shamelessly as she did he, taken in those starless dark eyes that burned straight into him and made him scalp his hands as he made cup after cup of her favourite coffee. Before she left, perhaps he shouldn't have told her that he would stay in the little shop, because the seats by the window were now filled with college students who complained about professors and school work, with timid couples holding hands, and of Petra with her husband, a man who bit his own tongue too often. Maybe he should have been selfish and asked her to stay, maybe he should have taken to trace the soft curve of her shoulders, and the slight concave hollow of her cheeks to the arch of her back.

It suddenly felt cold without her heated stare, bordering glare.

There was the brief feeling that he had lost something so close to him that if he reached out to touch, it would become his when she left her that day, leaving the red muffler she was so attached to on the armchair that reflected midnight street lights and passing cars.

That brief, fleeting moment that made him want to take hold of her hand, because he knew if he did, she would turn back to visit again, and maybe, just maybe, she would be here with him to watch Petra's twins twirl sprightly through the tables and chairs.

(*)

Armin smiled nervously, feeling his lower's hand slipping out of his own and allowed his hand to fall uselessly to his side.

They stood together overlooking the vintage café, a curious, unfathomable expression on her face.

He wondered if he should tell her to leave, the way she looked at that barista back when they lived in the city allowed him the opportunity to peer into the window of the little café to find his long time crush smitten with a severe looking Frenchman, a secret he had loyally kept to himself.

Being scared was normal, and he had told himself that no matter what Mikasa chose, he would support her as a friend, no, as her best friend. That he whispered to himself over and over again, wishing that he could believe it.

As though a squall had knocked away the fluttering in his heart, he pushed the woman gently on her upper back.

(*)

It was a week before Eren's birthday and Mikasa didn't know what to get him. Fortunately for her, Eren still had no girlfriend nor boyfriend, mainly due to Eren's own denseness and Mikasa's meddling, the man often spent his birthdays in the company of his best friend and half-sister. Armin and Mikasa had their own little contest of gifts for Eren… Armin won last year's.

"You look squeamish."

Mikasa jolted, nearly spilling her espresso all over her white pants.

"Maybe just a little."

"Why's that?"

She closed her eyes thoughtfully, "I feel a little stagnant."

He frowned, "What?" he asked in a flat tone, squeezing liberal amounts of sanitizer on pale hands.

The half-oriental shrugged, looking him up and down, "a person as boring as you wouldn't understand." She said a little loftily, and Levi opened his mouth to retort, only to realize she had a point, and that he was rather staid.

"What you prefer me to stop measuring your coffee?" He asked sardonically, earning a fake startled look from Mikasa.

"Oh, good heavens no! Whatever would I do if I didn't have well-measured coffee?"

The Frenchman tried and failed at holding his expressionless laughter, and ended up snorting into his white collared shirtsleeve.

Mikasa watched in amusement at the way his eyes untangled and how they burned with life, a warmth pooled in the pit of her stomach. She didn't even realize she was smiling until Levi walked away.

(*)

It had been a late shift; he didn't get off until midnight. Levi stole a glance at the obstinate girl by the window, she looked cool and beautiful. _Typical_, he scoffed to himself as his heart danced a little. Nonetheless, her eyes looked droopy and her eyes looked more dead than usual, her impeccable posture slumped barely noticeably and the amount of coffee cups accumulating in front of her was getting out of hand.

Levi sighed, relaxing while he cleaned, thinking of the venerable bookshop keeper and the weird French woman who owned the bakery next door. Basically, he refused to put his mind anywhere near the half-asleep girl in his own shop. Thinking back to his failed attempt at the milk heart, he winced, she never actually figured it out. Smirking to himself inwardly at his newly found motivation, he began to practice… after placing a clean blanket on the sleeping girl.

Too bad she never got to see it.

(*)

Mikasa Ackerman was omnipotent, there was always someone, somewhere ogling at her, so it became a part of her lifestyle, and thus, she stopped noticing.

Levi, though, was different. He was very good at what he did, so impossibly good that it was intimidatingly oppressive, so nearly nobody dared their eyes to set anywhere hear his skin. Therefore, no objet d'art were dedicated to him as they have Mikasa.

There was this one time, a pair of "Mikashippers" walked in, talking about, well, Mikasa.

"Say, you don't think Queen's secretly nympho, do you?"

"What?"

"C'mon, you heard me! They all say cool girls have closet problems…"

"That's kind of… kind of…"

"Hot." They finished together, grinning in a dreamy sort of way.

The little barista rolled his eyes… that shouldn't be now… right?

Yet… the way Mikasa stared at him… maybe it wasn't what he anticipated it to be?

That evening, when Mikasa came in to have a cup of her favourite coffee, Levi felt unusually hot and bothered at the way her gaze tickled and teased at the exposed parts of him.

He should file for sexual harassment.

Petra chuckled, "you should ask if you're that curious." She said with wry, twinkling eyes.

Levi brushed her off with a hard glare.

Nevertheless, when the girl came in the next evening, Levi couldn't help but turn a brilliant shade of prune as he was constantly reminded that the girl whom he thought might have feelings for him being a nymphomaniac.

She looked like a topper.

He burned his hand and ruined his favourite cravat.

(*)

Falling in love was difficult, it made his throat constrict and his hands stupid, his best friend who saw right through him smile mischievously and weird sounds to bubble from the back of his throat and liquid to sting his eyes when he thought he was never going to see her again. He wanted to lock himself in his room and cry, and then he wanted someone to pat him on the back and he wanted his bed sheets to be fluffy and his eyes to stop searching for her night-like orbs and his heart to stop throbbing daily. But most of all, he wanted to see her, feel her cheek in his palm and his name in her voice. He wanted to see himself spin in her mysterious grey eyes and her lips to make him feel innocent and callow. Everything she did was campanology, and every single ring made him bounce a little higher, until when she left, he crashed into something he wasn't even quite sure what, forlorn and derelict.

At least he made milk hearts better now.

(*)

"That's my favourite cravat." She pointed at the region around his neck.

Levi froze and fumbled with the cups and trays as to avoid her searing gaze.

"Oh, mine too." He cleared his throat and averted his eyes. She smiled dazedly at his back, like she always did.

(*)

She remembered her break-up with Jean, and everyone's sympathetic comforts. She remembered the gentle, broken voices attached with a string of words that should make her feel guilty. Yet, she simply locked her eyes behind a mask of frozen ice, then no one could tell the difference, and that almost made it like she felt nothing.

She remembered him, and her eyes would burn with light, her cheeks would become incandescent, and her lips would quirk up, only before her eyebrows drooped and a strange sensation that caused her to squeeze her toes really tight to get rid of it appeared.

(*)

She pulled the familiar wooden door open, more than aware of Armin's presence behind her. Her heart rate quickened as she took a deep breath and inclined her chin.

Then she saw him.

And she forgot.

It was as though the past two years never happened, that she wasn't married, that she could still freely stalk his shifts and indulge on the occasional free espresso with the awkwardly placed milk. As though the gentle light shining through the window only landed on him alone, and her eyes zoomed out of focus as for once, his gaze met her own.

They simply stared, eating away at each other's presence, gazing in wonder, and fearlessness.

Mikasa felt her limbs move the same time Levi dropped the cloth onto the counter with slightly parted lips.

But she stopped, because she felt the pressure on her back that was Armin's warm and soft hand, holding support and fear for her.

It was that moment that it became obvious that happiness was further away than the temperate evenings spent sipping coffee and eye-feeding off Levi. It was over before it even started when neither took a step closer. It stopped as the snow melted and the ocean appeared less blue, when the moon darkened and the leaves detached from the branches and drifted into puddles of warm September rain. Treasured memories and love, neither were meant to withstand the flow of people and things, despite how they might be able to surpass time and space.

Every beautiful story had regrets.

It was habit that forced them to think love on their side, that love was the 'good guy' that love could bring them together in the end.

None of that mattered though, because the important part was the process… that it happened.

She smiled, it was a small upturning of the lip as she nodded at him, holding up two fingers.

He looked back, and for the first time since they met, realized that those eyes were not as starless as he thought they were, and that they contained something only he could read.

Nodding silently, he turned away from her, choosing not to point out, but acknowledge her watery frames.

Levi held the little boat of milk in his practiced hand, and paused, simply staring at the distance between the milk and the coffee.

(*)

Mikasa looked down at her espresso, and froze, something passed her eyes for a second before she balanced the china cup in one hand and took a sip.

It was just as wonderful as the first time she tasted it, creamy and bitter, with a hint of sugar.

She rested a hand over Armin's.

**A/N: Hi! Thank you so much for reviewing the stories! They make me smile stupidly at my computer screen (a lot). Well, I wrote this because I thought the first two were just plain depressing, and as far as developing relationships went, it didn't go far. Then I thought about 'Maid', which is something I write so I'm not completely a walking zombie after I write something like 'Burden'. I hope you like this chapter and the next one will either be 'Tiramisu' (AU where Levi remembers his past) or maybe a sequel or prequel to 'The Forgotten', I'm not sure which though, I've only got about 500 words for them. As for this story, if anyone is interested, I DID write something that's got Armin's part in it, and it is from Armin's POV. Sorry for the ridiculously long and A/N. And if I made you cry in this one or one of the previous ones... guess I've done my job right! Actually, the one most connected to my raw feelings was probably 'Burden', because I'm the type of person to show nothing until I get home and then I just fall in my bed and cry and howl and break things. Again, thank you for all the pretty reviews!**

**edit: also, I was editing the story when I realized it's not 'whipped-cream hearts', it's just milk, but I'm not sure if the milk on the espresso had a special name... **


	6. Dear Diary

_Dear Diary_

Synopsis: Mikasa receives a diary for her birthday.

Dear Diary,

Armin gave me this for my birthday. He said I should write in it whenever I can and start it off with the phrase "Dear Diary". I told him I didn't know what to write about, and he told me to write about anything and everything.

Does this count?

Today, Eren puked from a cold, I was very concerned and stole some herbs for him. I think someone might've seen me, but they haven't said anything.

As long as Eren's safe, I don't care how many laps I have to run.

-Mikasa

Dear Diary,

Eren's cold got worse, I stole some more herbs for him. This time I am certain someone was watching me.

I hope Eren feels better soon.

-Mikasa

Dear Diary,

I found a jug of milk in my room today, just lying there. I took a sip, it tasted good, so I gave it to Eren. I'm sure he liked it. Every time he's pleased, his fingers wiggle, I don't think he notices.

I have to find a way to steal some more milk.

-Mikasa

Dear Diary,

I went to see Annie today, she's in her crystal as usual.

I think I saw her eyebrow twitch.

Eren's looking much better.

-Mikasa

Dear Diary,

That irksome shortie gave Eren an apple.

Eren likes apples.

I found a place to steal milk, now I just have to find apple trees.

I wonder if they'll grow if I plant them.

I should ask Armin.

-Mikasa

Dear Diary,

I planted the apple seeds in a pot by my window. Armin said he read in a book that I can move it outside when it becomes too big. I wonder how long it will take before Eren can eat the apples.

-Mikasa

Dear Diary,

There aren't many of us left. Annie, Reiner and Bertholdt are traitors. They will be exterminated.

But I can't hate them. I want to kill them, tell them what they did was wrong, I want to ask them why, and I want to punish them. But I can't hate them. I should hate them. I know I should.

Ymir and Christa and are nowhere to be found, I wonder if they hold a grudge against me. 'Eren was in danger, and Eren is more important'. I keep telling myself that, yet I can't help but remember the time we spent together. For the first time, I had friends and comrades other than Eren and Armin. It feels so strange every time I think of them. My throat hurts.

Am I sick?

-Mikasa

Dear Diary,

Someone washed my scarf for me. It smells like… fresh air. I feel so free without the stench of dried blood and rotten dirt.

Thank you, whoever you are.

-Mikasa

Dear Diary,

60th expedition outside the walls. Connie Springer, Sasha Braus, valiantly gave their lives for the good of humanity.

Lest we forget.

-Mikasa Ackerman

Dear Diary,

I cried today. I want someone beside me. It feels so odd. I've never had to sleep in a room alone before. It used to be Eren, and sometimes Armin. Then it was Annie, Ymir, Christa and Sasha.

The room feels so big without them, but the air feels so tight.

I can't breathe.

-M

Dear Diary.

I am now part of Heichou's squad.

It's so tiring.

That's true, but I have to fight, for Eren, for Armin, for Sasha.

And for myself.

-M

Dear Diary,

I moved my apple tree out a while ago, it's growing at a crawling speed.

-M

Dear Diary,

It doesn't feel right without somebody trying to steal my food.

-M

Dear Diary,

Levi ties his cravat funny.

-M

Dear Diary,

I miss it, the noise. It helps when Levi's around though, because he talks a lot. Usually about useless stuff, but it becomes easier to inhale. The air doesn't hurt my lungs as much.

-M

Dear Diary,

I can't eat potatoes anymore. Every time I see one, I just want to fall down and curl into a ball. My legs feel so weak. Even smelling it is painful.

-M

Dear Diary,

I lost my scarf.

-M

Dear Diary,

My neck is always so cold without it, I wonder where it went. I think Eren's trying to knit a new one for me.

I don't have the heart to tell him to stop.

-M

Dear Diary,

Levi told me how babies are made, but childbirth sounds like torture.

-M

Dear Diary,

It's been a while since I laughed, I didn't know that I found shit jokes funny. I laughed so hard I started crying, and the tears won't stop because for some reason, it reminded me of potatoes, and potatoes always makes me cry.

Levi gave me a cravat, I'll wear it until Eren finishes knitting. It's warm and silky against my skin. When he touched me, it felt weird, and I wanted him to touch me more, so I grabbed his hand, but the contact made me suddenly let go. That was strange.

-M

Dear Diary,

The only people who possesses the power to hurt me, do so too often.

-M

Dear Diary,

The next expedition is soon, and my apple tree has grown bigger. Armin told me it won't harbour fruit until years later. So I stole some milk for Eren instead.

It's been a while since I looked at Armin. He's grown taller than me, but he's still too thin. Eren has been growing too, I think it might be the milk. I don't think Jean's too pleased though.

It doesn't feel right, looking up at them.

It's still more comfortable to look down at Levi.

-M

Dear Diary,

I visited Annie again, I asked her about the potatoes. She didn't say anything, obviously.

It seems that I can eat them again. They taste really good, but they make my chest ache.

-M

Dear Diary,

Eren, Armin, please stay safe. Levi too. He has me hooked to his jokes, and I still have to give him back his cravat.

I too, have to stay safe.

I can't let him bear the burden of this world alone.

I won't let him walk alone in the rain.

I refuse to become nothing more than a memory, waiting to fade away, refuse to think of him drowning in sorrow over my frozen, useless body, refuse to think that my scent will remain stubbornly in the air around him.

Because if I die, there will be no more hope for the day that I can hold his hand along the shores of the ocean.

But I am yet a solider, and there is nothing I can treasure when my conscience overpowers my body, when my emotions last longer than my beating pulse.

If I die, will you cry?

-M

It falls, brighter and more charming than cloudless rain. The way a single tear tainted away the endless night of the inky last letter. It dissolves, crawling through the page like a dozen of caterpillars.

The previously polished letter is now a mess, a deviant from the simple, yet elegant handwriting.

In that moment, digressing from those dark apathetic eyes, was torment.

Except it was a confusing kind of torment because his thin lips were upturned, wrinkling in the corners and trembling like the pages of the diary that was clasped in his hands.

He was disembodied, light-headed, and heavy-hearted. A patter of hot rain brushed through the little leather bounded book, and he struggled like a broken kitten to keep the curve of his lips intact, and the numbness in his knees upright.

"I won't cry." was the thin and silvery reply, muddled by hesitation and a dislodged attempt at indifference. It was, just like the rest of him, in agony.

And it was beautiful.

"You deserve more than that."

_The diary of Mikasa Ackerman as well as the rest of her belongings rested with Eren Jäger._

_Her room was given to a batch of young girls from the 110th trainee squad. A pretty apple tree stood tall out the window, a blood red scarf tied to one of its branches and a crisp white cravat on another._

**A/N: Thank you for reading! And thank you so so much for reviewing 'The Best Coffee In The World'. Hmm... I think from the feedback I got, the main thing about it was that it was sad. Then, which do you think is more sad, this one or 'Best Coffee'? Just out of curiousity... **

**And the next one is called 'Tiramisu' for sure this time! 'Tiramisu' is just taking a while to write.**


	7. Of Hair and Lips

Of Hair and Lips

She always looked at the Professor from afar.

Warnings: slash, Highschool AU

It would have been easier if she wasn't so stubborn. An unrequited love with a professor should never really ended well.

She wasn't particularly beautiful, nor did her eyes unveil endless softness and intelligence. She was, in fact, sharp-tongued when she needed to be and quiet when she doesn't. She gave the aura of an illuminated being, superior to others and difficult to approach.

Looking out the third window counting from the back of Mr. Jäger's classroom usually offered a view of the woman patrolling the grounds between 1:00 to 1:30PM. She was so systematically punctual that sometimes, people wondered if she was a robot

But then she'd rip out a shit joke and that thought would disappear faster than the potato in Sasha's hand.

Unbeknownst most other people, with the exception of Armin Arlert (but he was an exception to everything, so he didn't really count), a pair of dimly lit eyes always rested on her figure, following every bounce in her step, every crease in the lines of her face, and every sinfully straight hair that grazed her chin.

Mikasa ran a hand through her own hair, feeling through the tangles and coolness, it wove itself down her back and ended at her hip bone, a sheet of pure onyx. _Her_ hair would be very different, smooth, soft and short.

Those lips too… they were a dull colour, not quite pink, yet pink is probably the best colour to describe it. They were always dry and chapped, and every time Mikasa saw them, she wanted to lick them…

Closing her eyes for a brief moment, she squished her thighs together tightly, grinding them slowly while clenching her teeth.

She would have to make do with this.

But those apathetic dark grey eyes…

"Professor, I'm not feeling well."

Eren Jäger blinked at her; disturbed by the cacophony of her chair and the ferocity she used to create the simple action of standing up.

He peered concernedly into his sister's face, resisting the urge to grab her and ask what was wrong.

"Go to the infirmary." He commanded, and determinedly dragged his gaze away from her again, "N-now, where were we?"

(*)

With light steps, Mikasa practically flew to the infirmary; she burst through the door and landed on a fluffy white bed, barricading herself under the covers. With shaky and loud breathes, her fingers worked at the removal of her uniform buttons and her feet violently kicked off her shoes.

_Levi,_ she whispered the name softly in her mind while her whole body was mesmerized in the sensation of pretending that these fingers were someone else's…

"Hah…"

Would she be gentle? She imagined her hands, course and calloused, with short nails, and like the rest of her, was so pale that it was difficult to look at.

No, she wouldn't be gentle.

"Nn…"

Her fingers rocked harder, imagining her voice whispering Mikasa's name in short raspy gasps, and her usual beautifully smooth hair a tangled mess in her breasts.

Mikasa shuddered, eyes wide and biting down on the covers of the bed.

It was over, and she was left with the strange unwinding feeling that led to a desiccated emptiness as she peaked her head out for air.

"Again?" Was the river like voice that could freeze sunlight into bitter wintry ice.

The grey-eyed oriental lowered her eyes to adjust the tangled scarf on her neck and button-up her mangled uniform.

"Why are you here?" She asked, sweeping a sheet of dark black hair from under her scarf.

The other watched her curiously, platinum blonde bangs dancing gently in the breeze from the open window.

"It must be hot, wearing that."

Mikasa didn't answer, but swung herself off the bed and stepped in her shoes.

"Don't think about it, Annie." She said, her voice containing a hint of something that dripped of venom but otherwise sweet.

"You're so fastidious," The Russian smiled, a strange blush overtaking her face while her frost like eyes darkened, "and so very hypocritical, Mikasa. I wonder what Professor Jäger would say if he knew what you were doing at my house."

If Annie meant to faze the girl, she failed miserably, for she simply turned away from Annie's deranged gaze and walked away, leaving the other's twisted features to untangle and settle back to apathy.

"Stupid girl." The blonde whispered to herself, running a hand through the tidied sheets.

(*)

She has small breasts and a small bum. Everything about her was small, and Mikasa wanted to wrap her in her arms and rest her chin over her silky hair… ignore all the fallacious assumptions and simply rest in a world with her, and her alone.

Mikasa wasn't a gregarious person, but something about Levi that drove others away, magnetized her towards the woman.

If only she would graduate sooner…

(*)

It was graduation, and other than Eren attempting to hide his tears while handing his sister her certificate, Mikasa was rather bored.

"Thank you, Professor, for being there for me." She murmured quietly, and a quiet, soft smile complimented her elegant, gentle visage as Eren pulled her into his arms and shed (manly) tears into her shoulder.

The ceremony lasted too long, and was too florid for Mikasa's liking. She felt out of place in the crowd of admirers and well wishers that surrounded her, and ducking away while Armin covered for her, she found herself in the back of the school.

For the first time in a while, she allowed her weighted chest to sink down into the pit of her stomach, and a wash of panic overtook her usual composed mind as the face she had been looking for the entire day resurfaced in her mind

Just as she was about to run around in a full-blown panic search, a field of sunshine bent over her seated figure and stuffed a tiny rose in her breast pocket.

"Something to remember me by." The girl said, blue eyes unwavering, "I'll be back, Mikasa." was all she said before rising and turning away from her, her fingers lingering over Mikasa's chest a little longer than they should have.

The inky-eyed girl looked back at her retreating figure, "Make sure you do." She said quietly, and the other waved a hand over her shoulder before breaking into a jog.

It would have been easier if she just complied. This pain of hope, of despair, and of incredible surrealism would disappear, because there would always be someone waiting for her with open arms, someone to tell her it would be okay, someone to love her. Yet, Annie's love was destructive, she wanted to rampage Mikasa, to turn her into an inanimate object to receive largess. A broken doll to dress up and play with as she wanted. And Mikasa was nobody's caged bird.

"I guess they were right." A bemused voice rang into the grey-eyed girl's thoughts, and she turned to them with calm-eyes but a constricted throat.

"About what?" She returned, and was surprised at how unperturbed her voice sounded.

The woman's bored dead-fish eyes greeted her, "The great Mikasa Ackerman was lesbo." She shrugged, twirling a glass of what looked like red wine in one hand.

Mikasa tore her unwilling gaze away from her, "I'm not." She said numbly.

There was a clack of high heels and the short woman plumped down beside her, bringing the glass to her lips.

The girl couldn't stop herself from looking.

Her lips were chapped, as always.

And that weird warmth in her stomach pooled up, as always.

"I fall for whoever I feel like." She whispered, and this time, her voice had sounded breathy, meticulous, and debauched.

Levi froze, and keeping the tip of the glass between her lips, shifted her gaze to Mikasa's dark and half-lidded ones.

Setting the glass down on the ground beside her, Levi turned her whole head towards her, a smirk resting on her face as she ran a hand through Mikasa's coal dark, lustrous hair.

"I've always wanted to do that."

The young Oriental's eyes widened, "Wha?"

"You honestly think I don't notice? Staring at me like some crazed assassin while all the other damn little brats avoided me?"

Mikasa let out a shaky laugh and leaned towards the older woman.

"There's something I've always wanted to do too…" she breathed, irises darting from between Levi's eyes to her lips.

They tasted like alcohol, and grazed against her tongue from their dryness. Mikasa wrapped a hand into the French woman's hair.

They were just as smooth and soft as she imagined in her lewd fantasies.

They broke apart, equally composed as though nothing happened between them but a polite exchange of greetings.

Running her index finger across Levi's now moist and smooth lips, she smirked, "I'll never allow them to be chapped again."

**A/N: Hi! It's been a while! How are you? SnK ended, but the manga's still as awesome as ever! **

**I promise... promise... promise that Tiramisu will be on Sunday. It's a little bit longer than these shorter drabbles. It's more like that coffee fic two chaps earlier, not quite though, I think Tiramisu is quite casual. It just takes forever for me to finish transferring the info from my head onto paper. **

**I hope you guys don't mind slash... I like it, personally. **


	8. Parallel

Parallel

This is the story about life and death. Literally.

Life sits on the edge of hell, not because he liked it, but because there was much to see of whatever souls that came and few times, left. Souls were pretty, they exposed everything about a person. Some souls came in, red as hell fire, and diminishes over time into a dancing, soft blue flame as it is sent back to the world. Other souls came in, murky purple, and left, in that same repulsive yet mesmerizing colour.

There was a river where souls bathed as they trespassed hell, they danced in the vapours of the shimmering limpid waterfall, bewitched by the beauty of the soothing shower upon their most delicate, and yet most powerful form. For a soul cannot be hurt, but it will become tainted, and once a soul is tainted, it becomes neither beautiful nor ugly. It simply falls.

As life, he neither enjoyed nor did he abhor these changes in the beautiful souls he took charge of, just like how he neither enjoyed nor abhorred the ironic splendor of hell.

Hell was neither below nor above the human world. It stood in between the human world. Or rather, it was the human world. Souls saw hell whereas humans saw the earth. That was how it worked, and life never saw anything other than hell, so how was he supposed to know why these souls insisted on persuading him of the alluring of the earth? For life, hell was beautiful enough.

There was this one time though, when the first soul came and left his company.

It was enthralling.

Because the soul was entirely _transparent_.

The purity of that soul was nothing life had ever seen nor had sense encountered before. He had wanted to grab hold of that soul and keep the soul with him forever, encasing it in a box and refuse the obstinate dirt that attempts to attach itself onto that sheet of silver.

He never saw that soul again.

Or maybe he did, but it turned into something less. Yet somewhere within him, he knew, that soul would never be tainted, for nothing as terrible nor as wonderful could ever disturb it from its path.

So life wondered for the impossible, something different from his own null of an existence. For he _desired_ something. For he _dreamed_ like any other soul on earth. For he refused his title of an entity and _wished_ like any other common spirit for a _glance_ at the impossible.

He broke away from the inveterate. And sometimes, for souls that are close to life, they wonder if it would have been better if he remained a being beyond their understanding.

Death measured the gates of heaven.

It wasn't _really_ a gate; it was more like a pool of a swirling substance with a colour that is indescribable in human terms. The souls, if they wished, would jump in at their own pleasure, and whatever happened to them… happened. Death didn't know, nor did she care. Or maybe she did know, that doesn't change the fact that she doesn't care.

She had been human at some point in her life, but it wasn't really of much importance to her. In fact, nothing was of much importance to her, the only reason she had become death had already been forgotten, latent somewhere deep in her being, and she was not in a hurry to uncover it.

She really liked emerald though.

Death demonstrates great largess, she was much more lenient than other entities, and most souls that came across her immediately both came to love her, and to fear her.

Feared for her ability to become so unbelievably impervious, and loved for her absolute pellucidity.

"Power… what is there more of?" A soul had connected to her, and she had turned away from it, showering it with magnificent beams of inconceivable light upon the little soul.

"Power you say? I would say you have more power than me, I would never dream of crossing barriers as you do."

"Why are you what you are then?"

_Because I would have chosen the same thing each and every time._ Was the answer she wanted to give, for parallel universes would collapse if even one of 'her' in these timelines gave a different decision. Those beyond the mortal body knew that much.

So death remained silently, and made more pretty lights.

Life didn't know that he had become life for the sake of returning life into the lover who had suffered an early death. He didn't quite comprehend her feelings of rather wishing to die than to be tainted in a world without him. So he contracted and became 'life'.

Death would never find resting in her sleeping memories the pain of resurrection at the loss of the one person she had so insufferably loved. So she became death, in the hopes of remaining with him. Or perhaps it was simpler than that. Perhaps she was simply too enervated as her feelings evaporated into the air surrounding her, and she lost her ability to remain human.

Humanity would rather hurt than to feel nothing at all.

She stood inert, though.

Death was beautiful, possibly even more so than life. And life was effulgent, for it was ephemeral. Yet death exculpated sins and ties whereas life renewed these execrable yet enthralling fecund possibilities that could sprout into anything they wanted.

They were beautiful.

And the barrier remained unbroken.

They remained, absolutely parallel.

**A/N: And if you dislike slash... there's this... this was a lot of fun to write. Forgive me if it's a little plain. **


	9. Let me go

Let me go.

-Damaged

They were perfect, before he encased them in a world without magic, blinded himself to drive into insanity for the sake of his sanity. It was a choice he should have made a long time ago.

He ran a finger down the side of her pearly cheek, it felt cool and smooth to touch, like a fresh-water stream flowing persistently down a mountain. There was something unusually satisfying about the way her inert form bent to his finger's gentle prodding.

She lay, her chest rising up and down, and her charming apathetic ice-grey eyes hidden behind a curtain of light, soft snow.

His fingers lingered on the place where her dimples would appear, curving in while she smiled mischievously with a hint of ruefulness as her light pink and luscious lips curved upwards.

It was rare, and Levi regretted not taking a picture.

(*)

"I went to say hi to Eren net door." The little girl deadpanned before the dark-haired boy could even ask.

"What, that brat?"

The girl shot him a sharp look, eyebrows shooting near her eyes, "Why do you dislike Eren so much?"

The other shrugged defensively at a failed attempt to act nonchalant, then turned to a deep shade of prune as he darted his eyes pointedly away from the girl as she began to change into pajamas.

He couldn't answer, but an annoyed frown and an even deeper shade of now what seemed like purple tainted his features from the roots of his hair to the base of his neck, and he slapped a hand over his lips to hide away the childish pout.

Mikasa looked away, amusement and annoyance dripping from her inky orbs.

(*)

"You didn't have to hurt him!" She snarled, glaring down as venom dripped from her words and dark, bitter resentment overpowered by steaming anger towards Levi drowned the other's confidence, who, in his defense, looked evenly back into her eyes while cold sweat broke out down his back.

"Don't defend him." He murmured, restive hands clenching and unclenching as Mikasa took a threatening step towards him.

Something akin to loathing that filled Mikasa's feature prodded at the artery of Levi's boiling emotions.

"He doesn't know anything about you." He said, his voice growing slightly louder with each preceding word. He hated how querulous it sounded in his eardrums.

If asked, he would blame it on the rash of youth combined with the spring of a hot, scorching passion. For he knew he would regret the blood rushing to his head that caused him to see colours and his sense of balance to deteriorate horrendously. He felt like vomiting.

"You barely know each other, he probably doesn't give a damn crap about you!" There was a flash of hurt that displayed vulnerability that retraced her fury for a fraction of second.

He saw the stupefied eyes break back into anger and strange disappointment. Shielding his face from the blow that would surely hit, he voluntarily took a step back.

It never did come.

(*)

"Does this dress make me look fat?"

"Yeah Levi. The green one was better, pink just isn't your colour."

Levi's eyebrows scrunched up in concern as he peered at the muscles stretching out the emerald fabric.

"Yeah, love you too, darling." He rolled his eyes, "At least these things look like dresses on me." He gestured to the crazed gorilla like boy beside him, and sure enough, Reiner Braun beat any sort of feminine kawaii-ness out of the maid-dress with his hard, rock-like muscles.

Mikasa cringed, "You look good." She said quickly, adjusting her butler vest and ponytail briefly, earning a couple of giggles and cries of ecstasy from on watching fan girls.

"Thanks." He said acidly, and placed a blonde wig over cropped, smooth onyx hair, a strange urge of killing the crazed science teacher for suggesting this horrid, absolutely _horrid_ idea repeatedly.

He then turned away from her; a few years had taught him enough to suppress the worst of his horrible ability to stand out like a sakura flower in the death of winter in the presence of his sister. All he had to blame was Mikasa.

How dare anybody look so good cross-dressing.

Yes, how _dare_ she.

"Hi Mikasa," A voice resounded, a voice that made Levi want to strangle several newborn piglets.

"Eren…" she breathed, and Levi felt his loathing deepen.

The two were well known lovers throughout the school. One was the athletic, smart, _queen_-of-the-damned-underworld-and-everything-else-that -existed-in-the-universe-because-how-the-hell-can- anybody-look-so-damn-gorgeous Mikasa Ackerman. And the other was Eren Jäger. He was fairly famous too.

(_For being an angry little brat_)

Levi wanted to punch Eren's face in and scream it to the world of all his dissatisfactions and how Eren was not worth the speck of dust on Mikasa's feet.

Instead, he stepped into a pair of high heels and walked away with his head held up high in the air.

(*)

Serenity reflected in her features, an angel in disguise, and Levi smiled at her. A sort of smile that made it hard for him to keep his lips curved upwards, a sort of smile that caused him to lose the feeling in the limbs as his vision blurred from the strange soft feeling in his chest. He was _weak_. Much weaker than the girl lying on the bed ever was. He was a failure of a human being who would trade the souls of all the children in the world just to see the one girl he loved to open her eyes again. He was the kind of sad, selfish doll of society that would feel nothing at the death, the terror, and all the shit people had to go through but feel himself fall to pieces when he realized all the hope he had been holding on was just an illusion to keep the darkness from consuming every edge of his being.

"Damn you, Mikasa."

(*)

He was in the last year of university, clean-freak and elite fencer, over-achiever and well-admired by all. He was gentle and grumpy and a tad too blunt.

Oh, and he was still in love.

But he learned to built a cast around his still beating heart to keep it from falling apart, to shield his eyes and pretend what he had in front of him was not the girl he loved hurting, pretended that her smiles were fading day by day the same way his had become a frozen river.

Humans hurt and bear the agony because they fear change; they see the happiness dull into dark relief from torment. This wasn't happiness; it was just a second away from pain.

"Eren, no, that's not it…" he heard her voice from the other room, gentle and calm.

"No, Levi's my _brother_, I wouldn't… what? Just because Annie said-… no, that's not it, can we meet? I'm really not-… no no no, don't hang up, wait, Eren, let me-" a sigh and silence followed.

Levi knew the boy loved her. He cared for her like he should, and love was as clear as day as he looked at her. But the boy was just a boy. And Mikasa was a woman. He saw her heart before he saw her soul, and loved her not because he was in love with her, but simply because he needed her.

But they were siblings.

Siblings _stayed_ siblings.

(*)

"Oh, you're back." He said, looking up from his book and at the new arrival at the door, "you look like-"

"I broke up with him."

Silence followed.

She didn't look any different than usual.

Not a hair was out of place.

There was no red eyes, no cries of mercy, no pain in her eyes, no tears falling to her cheeks.

"I broke up with him."

She repeated, in the same, steady voice as she started to step towards him, stepping out of a pair of black stilettos and unwrapping a red muffler from her neck.

"He's gone." She said, voice hollow and tired.

"…gone."

Levi wanted to ask why, he had dreamed of the day they would break up, and how he would comfort her, dreamed of this very scene and formulated every single move he would make.

Now he was lost for words.

"Mi-"

"I don't understand it, Levi." She said quietly, a flick of a half grin that looked more like a grimace started on her face as she laid both hands on his shoulders.

"I thought you loved me, Levi."

Her voice sounded thick, suffered, betrayed, "I don't understand." It trembled, and her face was right in front of him, and he realized he was wrong, and those eyes held more sorrow than his heart could bear on the woman whom he loved.

"I don't understand." She whispered again into his face, sultry lips trembling as Levi caught a waft of alcohol drifting towards him.

"What do you-"

A single tear dropped pristinely onto Levi's lap, "Stop it. That's enough."

Was the last thing he heard from her.

For those eyes never opened again.

(*)

"Hi, I'm back." He said to the white room. It was clean to a fault, and so blindingly bright.

Closing the door behind him, he set the new vase of white lilies by her bedside table and plopped down on a chair by her side, watching the rhythmic pattern of her breathing.

"I saw Armin today," He said, "he misses you, you know? A lot."

She didn't respond.

"I bought a dress for you," He continued, "It's sapphire blue. You should hurry up and wear it."

She didn't respond.

(*)

It was funny how easily people can break. They can hold out for three years, not batting an eyelash, motivated and happy. And then in another second, they'd be breaking all the furniture in the house and cursing everything from God to their mother.

That was Levi.

Oh, and he blamed everything on Eren Jäger, by the way.

"I really… I love Mikasa." He said, and from the way her emerald green eyes flickered and his voice broke, Levi could only bitterly believe him.

"I want her awake. I want her to be by my side again. But Levi, Mikasa would rather die than be in the state she's in."

Levi saw red, and the next thing he knew, his knuckles were sore and Eren was on the floor with his lip bleeding.

The boy didn't shout, only a grunt of pain before he climbed onto his knees in front of Levi's feet.

"Please, I beg of you. Let her go."

(*)

"Mi~ka~sa~ if you don't wake up, I'm eating all the potato chips!" Sasha chimed, wiggling a chip in front of Mikasa's peaceful sleeping face.

When the oriental did not respond, the brunette, put the chip back into the bag and fell solemn. Wordless and blank-eyed as she turned away from the woman and picked up her bag to leave the room in a few long strides.

(*)

"Get up." He said, voice stern and quiet, dangerously sloppy with a hint of something that he couldn't quite touch on.

It was probably along the lines of insanity.

"_I said get the fuck up Mikasa Ackerman_." He only ever used her full name once, and that was when they both thought she was pregnant since her period was a day late.

It was eerie in the dead of the night, and he really shouldn't be in the hospital, which was why the nurse dragged him out before anything else.

The next morning, he was grateful.

(*)

All he did was rest by her side, he didn't talk, because he was tired. He didn't bring her pictures to look at, because just raising a finger drained him of all his energy. He just kind of lay there, looking dead. She was there beside him, in the same inert form, yet she looked very much alive. Sleeping, maybe. Lashes forming shadows on her face from the setting sun, and for a second, the whole room was doused in a bloody mix of orange and red, colouring her alabaster skin into the same crimson that encaged the two into a world of ruby.

(*)

"I still have a lot to say to you." He mumbled, finger still resting on her face, now tracing the line of her nose.

"But it's time for goodbye now."

He turned, and no tears fell down his face, because he had five years to prepare. He had five years and it still hurt as much as the first day, the scars only grew wider, and it wasn't that he had more tolerance, but simply because it had hurt so much, for so long that it was now numb. He had learned to become cagey; to sedate himself to believe and accept the fact that he'll never know why, and that it didn't mattered because he couldn't trap a body with no soul.

It just took him five years too long to recognize that.

_I couldn't love you like Eren, not in the same that he understood you. Not like Armin, who could shower you with kindness. Not like Sasha, who carried away your pain with some strange magic that I can't even begin to fathom. Not like Reiner, who will continue to carry on even though as he forgets himself. I just love you, Mikasa. I hope that's enough._

**A/N: She did not try to commit suicide… and she was in a vegetative state. I don't know if that helps, but just so that it's more clear…**

**ALW4: Thank you so much! It was so much fun to write too… I was actually thinking about things. **


	10. Six Feet Under

Six Feet Under

It was just bothersome, like those ridiculously difficult to open shampoo bottles and tall, shitty bookshelves.

Fucking impossible.

It wasn't that bad though, because I could grab a napkin to get a better grip and grab one of my stepladders. Those are the useless things I'm annoyed at.

Those and the loud cacophony of opening a closet door at night, tripping over the same stair over and over again, fruit flies, and that sudden weird, cramping feeling that would not go away until tomorrow comes.

I'm not a calm person, nor am I introverted, I just express myself differently,

And if you haven't figured it out yet, brat, I'm afraid you're going to need to stick your head in your bed covers and cry because there's no cure for stupidity.

I'm mute.

My life isn't that different from yours, or maybe it is. I wouldn't know.

Perhaps I was naturally born void of human ways of expression, for there are ways to express oneself without speaking (I fail at those too). I could smile, or cry, or wave, or hit. But I don't. According to my late older brother, I just looked angry all the time.

To hell with that.

I do like my fun though.

As a kid, I used to take a hot dog before the distribution of hot lunches. I didn't eat it, but the teacher would panic since one wimpy kid didn't get their heavenly hot dog.

(I did return the hot dog… eventually)

Nobody blamed me though, they blamed each other, they blamed the ones who already got their hot dogs, their eyes would dim with envy and anger and nobody would blame me.

So it was all-good.

Nobody ever _saw_ me.

As a young child, I disliked sign language and therefore rarely used it. It's not the same anyway.

But perhaps it is just that, or maybe it's because I've always been like this, that I've never said flat out to anyone that I loved them. So sometimes, wryly and emptily, I'd figure out with my more developed brain that they probably never knew. Of course, you would say, "go tell them now." And I would tell you, as I am telling you now, "whoever said that it's never too late, whoever that bastard is… they're wrong."

Life doesn't wait for the weak, it doesn't take your hands and lead you on with a smile on its face, and if you think so, they maybe it's time to step out of your forest surrounded by unicorns and big ass tress and smell the flowers growing out of cow shit.

I'm not a particularly interesting person, and because school children knew enough by then to not bother the sad, weird kid and to include him in their activities… nobody really did bother me.

So, I spent recess settled by the black berry bushes occupied by my own thoughts as the other children giggle and screamed and cried.

I'm a hypocrite. I want them all to shut up because something about their happiness crawls in the depth of my gut in a grotesque way, and it makes me light-headed and filled to the brim with violent thoughts. When I'm at home, though, alone and staring out my window in the dead of the night, I just want someone to wreak havoc around me. I want them to drown out my thoughts with a spectacle of the worst. Because my own thoughts scared me, and I don't know whose voice they are in because it's definitely not mine. It becomes confusing and I just want to lie down and sleep but my bed is a mountain of thorns and vines like the black berry bushes I sit beside during recess mingled with the taste of blood and death.

It's a bed where I can't sleep on without dreaming.

They used to be beautiful, dreams. But I think I've forgotten what that means.

When I was fifteen, a boy and his mother moved in next door after a widow who lost his wife left.

I didn't have anything better to do, so I made tea and watched from my bedroom window.

The boy looked no older than I, with warm a pretty face decorated by emerald gems shining under the sun. He was bickering with his mother, a stunning woman who looked not much older than the boy, decorated with trimmed ebony hair and cold, ice-grey eyes. I know those eyes. They were the same as those who has seen through too much pain, too much torment. They were the eyes of those who truly understood happiness, for they experienced the horrors and sorrows of torment beyond of which that can be satisfied by the flow of time and tears.

She was interesting.

If I had known back then, maybe I would have looked away, gone back to my blackberry bush and watched the bees buzz around instead. But no, I stayed and watched the shine of light on her alabaster skin.

For weeks, I just stared at her, going to school, coming back from school, and sitting by my window, just staring.

I'm sure she would have noticed if she just looked up. And I felt anxious at the thought, because I don't really know if I want her to look up or not.

She was beautiful.

She didn't hold a subtle beauty. It wasn't the kind that you could be exposed to for your whole life and only notice at your dying moment. It was fiery, intense, and more in-your-face than all the other beautiful women I have seen. As a hobbyist who enjoys drawing nude humans, I have seen a rather lot of them.

I can only imagine, with pure curiosity and anticipation, how beautiful it would be if I could look at her just a bit closer.

The second thing I noticed was the wool muffler that she wore year round. Through my window, there was not a day where her neck shined as bare as her face.

The third thing was the fact that she loved that _brat_ so goddamn much that it is beyond my understanding.

She was positively obsessed over the boy.

It wasn't until three quarters of a year passed that I realized she wasn't the only one with an obsession.

I'd rather not dwell on that thought, though.

(*)

I thought she might be like me, with the constant begrudging expression plastered over her face in a mask that I was sure would never fade away.

I was wrong.

She juggled the fight against everything forcing her into the ground. She believes and she accepts.

And I'm just a coward.

My existence is not worth the dust on her shoes.

Because I had nothing to do, I aimed all my thoughts at her. I directed away all the tension to occupy the space instead with her.

I started sketching her, the distinctively foreign curve of her lips to the proud bump of her nose to her concave cheeks and those silently strong, silently fragile ice-grey eyes to every strand of her immaculate ebony hair.

So damn beautiful.

Addiction wasn't quite it. She became my fantasy.

In my sketchbook, I recorded my wry thoughts of the upcurving of her lips, and the crease between her brows that held little of the flow of time. The river that was her hair was pieces of chopped rain, and the alabaster snow-white skin shined under the light, void of all other colours.

Pale and smooth.

Did the curve of her neck look that way under its greatest protector? Her blood red scarf?

To feel her ivory skin under my fingertips, the smooth, lean muscles on her arm to the stretched impervious ones on her legs. To dig into her thighs and make those muscles bend to my will, to melt that impassive gaze into something more instinctive… more animal like –

But most of all, I wanted her voice.

What tingle would she make in my eardrums? Would they be more beautiful than the ugly cacophony around me or would it shatter all the beams of light that sauntered me into darkness?

I filled the sketchbook full of the lemony, acidic gaze that she had on early mornings and the soft, melted marshmallow dip of late night returns. With each drawing, I took half a step closer to the beauty of the entity on the other side of my window. With each stroke of my pencil, each smudge, the dull grey tainted my body with the overpowering sensation of her. At the same time, with each drawing, I am alerted abruptly of the beauty I will never be able to capture.

(*)

It was the middle of winter, and I, with a fever and as obstinate as always, laid my head down on the cool kitchen table top and refused to drag my feet to get the shitty heater going.

The doorbell rang.

I swore in my head.

When I stuffed my head down into my arms and tried to ignore the noise, the bell rang again, and again, and again, and again.

Until I was agitated enough to take off the blanket around my shoulders and embrace the numbness in my legs.

I would have liked to say 'what the hell, you dumb idiot?' but was greeted by a field of bright green.

"U-um, hi. I'm from next door." The boy said lamely, a half-smile stretched out on his tanned face.

There was a few moment of silence. What? I wasn't going to answer him.

"I thought I should give you the homework. We're in the same biology class." He said, his voice shaking with what felt like anticipation. I nodded at him, sticking out my hand.

He stuffed a neat pile of paper complete with sticky notes and tabs into my waiting hand, but when I tried to close the door in his face, he stopped me.

"W-wait! You're Levi, right? I saw you at the last track meet. You were incredible." He smiled encouragingly, in a way that didn't mask his uncertainty.

"Would you like to come over for dinner?"

I held my breath.

What the fuck, idiot? Of course I would like to go check out your mom.

I shook my head.

He looked beaten down, with downcast eyes and closely knitted eyebrows, but looked reluctant to give up, "My sister's a really good cook." He said again, this time in a smaller voice, and fiddled with his feet, like a penguin.

Just as I was about to reject him again, this time in a more final manner that consisted with the thoughts of stuffing him in a garbage can without actually touching him, another figure stepped up behind him, and I felt my face burn.

She didn't look at me, and I tried to not meet her gaze, she only had eyes for her brother. (So she was his sister, well then, that makes things less awkward)

I nodded.

(*)

Their house was well kept, classy and expensive looking. It was neat and orderly, fairly clean and smelled of spaghetti.

Sitting atop the fireplace were pictures, photosets, and albums, most of them consisted of her, a blonde boy, and of a younger Eren.

"Oh!" Eren smiled hesitantly, emerald eyes gleaming a he walked towards the fireplace, "this is me." He finished lamely, pointing at one of the photos of a baby in the arms of a young black haired girl and the blonde standing beside her.

What, does he think I can't even recognize that?

"That's my sister, Mikasa," he continued, the name rolling off his tongue in a vague manner.

I wanted to try saying it, curious of what sort of chime it would make in the voice I knew not of. I wondered if it would be just as sweet and equally mesmerizing.

I don't know how.

"… and this one has my parents in them…" he pointed at an older photograph with faded colours and damp smiles. Through the faces, there was no trace of Mikasa.

"My parents died when I was five, I don't remember them well…" he smiled tightly, matter-of-factly, squinting his eyes in an apologetic way as Mikasa's voice greeted my ears.

Like chimes, the bounced off the walls and reflected to me. It was so strange I didn't make out what she was saying.

That year, I was sixteen.

And I felt like a mountain of ashes because I discovered love.

(*)

Eren Jäger was naïve, he made friends too easily with people whose true nature is masqueraded by his filtered vision.

As a result, I enjoyed her cooking more often than I should.

Nothing to complain about.

There was something foreign about her, something that made me realize the reason behind my attraction towards her.

It was her eyes. Not just her eyes, those half-dead, yet refusing to diminish into the dark orbs, it was in her movement, it was embedded in her strides, the demeanor of which she carries herself with.

And I find myself more and more inebriated on her ugliness.

Then, like a deer caught in headlights, I wasn't sure what was love anymore. I am immature, my love sprouted from the sudden dizziness of a cold that forged the deception of the angel before me.

I loved her because I needed her.

I needed her to take me away from the loud silence ringing in my eardrums, to take me from the constant pain eating away at what little I have left.

I love her. And what I loved was not her.

(*)

She read quietly. She never read outside.

Her emotions softened when webs of woven magical worlds brought her the vision of childish innocence. They hardened, not changed, just hardened as her imagination untangled from that same web, and soon after, she would close the book and raise an ivory hand to sweep away the contrasting midnight dark hair away from her face.

She would then sigh, disturbing the air particles around her with her parted, honeyed lips, and nod at me, who sat, observing in their living room.

She was still beautiful, enigmatic, and made as much sense to me as she did the moment I saw her features through my window that summer. Now she sat not even a meter away from me, and yet still, some pellucid, untouchable barrier shields her.

Eren was still a shitty little brat, still too naïve, too easily manipulated.

"Is Armin coming over?" He called from the bathroom.

He yelled too loudly.

"Yes." She said, soft and precious, it made me want to catch it in the air.

But I was scared to touch her. Because my ugliness would stain her unusually pure skin black, and the ugliness in her irises would swallow me whole, and I wouldn't know who's who because all the ugliness blended together. I didn't want her asphyxiated.

Not like me.

She was my drug. She somehow convinced my mind to believe that with her presence, the smothering memories would fade away into the background. The reassured smile that my brother carried, and the more cheerful, darker on of his girlfriend, they haunted me. She saved me from them.

It shouldn't have come as a surprise for me, the disgusting way that he looked at her, that Armin Arlert was the one who forced the green monster of envy out of my system. It didn't work that way though.

Armin reminded me of someone special.

He had blonde hair, partly tied to the back of his head, because it was long and he was a scientist. With penetrating blue azure lights for eyes, he fitted well against the cool, stone beauty. Her lack of expression was fulfilled by his overwhelming amount of emotions.

I wished, yearned for her gaze to land on mine, and I hoped what they saw wasn't just me, but my soul. I wished she would _look_ at me with as much intensity as she looked at that brat. I wished she would look at me and I wished her lips would turn upwards at my presence. I wished she would walk towards me and whisper my name in my ears, since I've forgotten what it sounds like.

I was nineteen; nineteen and I knew I was lying to myself when I said I was only halfway in love with her.

(*)

It was difficult to discover the truth behind a dozen of well-woven lies.

For a child, morally up righteousness is defined by the happiness perceived. Whatever sacrifices others made didn't really matter as long as they were happy.

My brother was that way.

Except he wasn't a child.

He was a murderer. Not for bad causes, in his opinion, I can see that. Nevertheless, I can also see the lack of need for of his survival for the greater good. He was better off dead.

If I could only convince myself of that.

It took me a good few years to realize that, it took me all of high school and training, yet only one day as a newbie under her care to understand Eren's undying respect for her.

She was a goddamn genius.

No, a genius isn't enough to describe her.

A phenomenon… the embodiment of everything my brother had wasted his life looking for.

On one strange night, though, lying on my bed and staring up towards the ceiling, it sudden occurred to me…

I didn't love her because I need her; I need her because I love her.

I was twenty-four. It took me a good part of nine years to figure that out.

Except she had been out of reach, never within somewhere I could work towards, never something I could see through the corner of her eyes, never holding a breath because she was right in front of me.

I was twenty-four and she had been married for two years. I was twenty-four and Armin wants a baby. I was twenty-four and I was head over heels in love with her and I was pathetic, because I couldn't stop clinging onto her.

I can't stop clinging onto her.

Falling back into that abyss is much more painful than watching the woman I love in love with another man.

**A/N: first attempt at first person Levi, to be honest, I kind of liked this. It was very subtle and quiet. There was nearly no dialogue in it. So it must've been a bit dry. Sorry.**

**ALW4: I amaze you? You should stop spoiling me…**

**Miso: sorry, I forgot to put down that story had two parts in it. I didn't write down how she became that way because I don't think Levi saw what happened to her. Oh, and thank you very much!**


End file.
